by Curry, Edna
She wanted to be held and comforted, but didn't dare chance getting that close to him. He was too damn virile and attractive. She would give in to her own desires and she wasn't ready to handle that yet. She had to get out of here as soon as she got him settled for the night.
“Don't get any bright ideas,” she told him. “You're sleeping in it alone. I'm going to Marion's house, however late she gets home.”
“Aw shucks, you're no fun.”
A glance told her he really was disappointed. Knowing he wanted her as much as she wanted him didn't help matters any. Trying to lighten the mood, she stuck out her tongue at him, eliciting another playful smile.
She took her coffee from him, sat down in one of the upholstered chairs and sipped the fragrant liquid with a grateful sigh. It had cooled a bit on the way over, but still tasted great.
He sat in the other soft chair, and drank his coffee. “Warmer now?”
“Yes, much better.” She set her empty cup on the small end table and sent him a stern look. “Now, let's see why you're limping.”
His lips twisted. “There's nothing to see.”
Frowning, she waited, trying not to flush. Her feelings weren't important, his injuries were. She fervently hoped that they weren't serious enough to force her to take him to a doctor. If so, the jig would be up and Paul would be stuck in jail. She wasn't about to let Ben win so easily.
Paul sighed and took off his boot, then tried to pull up the leg of his jeans. It was too narrowly cut to go past his calf. He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. Standing, he unzipped his fly, slid his jeans down, then sat again and pulled his injured leg out of them.
She caught her breath at the sight of his well-muscled, long legs. Trying not to look at his narrow hips and the bulge encased in navy jockey briefs, she dropped her gaze to the injury on his lower leg. It was definitely swelling, and had a large, purplish bruise along the outside of the ankle and up along his calf. She moved over, sat on the plastic covered hassock in front of him to reach his leg and pressed it gently. “The bone doesn't feel broken. Wiggle your toes,” she ordered, glancing at him.
He did, making a face at her. “Of course it's not broken,” he scoffed. “I wouldn't have been walking on it if it was.”
“Maybe not, although I've heard of people who have walked with a broken bone for days before discovering it. I think you'd better elevate it with some ice. It's already swelling.”
“Yes, Mama,” he agreed. “Can I put my pants back on, now?”
No, she wanted to tell him. Leave them off and join me on that bed. But of course, she couldn't say that. Her face felt as hot as her wayward thoughts.
“Pants, yes, boot, no. Put your foot up on the hassock. We'll have to improvise an ice pack. Let's hope the party guys we heard singing haven't used all the ice.”
She grabbed the ice bucket from the table and dashed down the hall to the ice machine. She might need to climb in that ice machine herself to cool off.
Returning with a full bucket, she was relieved to see he'd covered those private parts and settled in the chair as she'd directed.
“We were in luck. There was plenty of ice left,” she said with a laugh. Going to the bathroom, she found a towel to wrap it in, then handed him the makeshift ice pack.
She wrapped the towel around his ankle, thinking it looked more swollen than before. In spite of her earlier worries about Paul being found, she asked, “Don't you think you should have a doctor look at it? Have an x-ray, maybe?”
“Don't be ridiculous. It's just a bruise. Lucky I was wearing my leather boots, though, or it could have been worse.”
“Anything you want? Newspaper? More coffee?”
“How about handing me one of those picture albums?”
“I'll get them.”
While he looked at them she called the sheriff's office and reported her accident. Breathing a sigh of relief that Deputy Tom answered, she explained that a drunk had caused her car to go off the road. Then she called Dave at the garage where she always had her car repaired, and arranged to have it towed and repaired.
When she hung up, Paul said, “I notice you were careful not to mention me.”
Shrugging, she sat in the upholstered chair across from him. “No need for them to know I wasn't alone. It was just a drunk.”
“Was it?”
“What do you mean, 'was it?' What else could it have been?”
“I'm not so sure.” He frowned. “I got the feeling he did it on purpose. We could have been killed going over that cliff.”
“Don't I know it.” She shuddered at the memory of how close they'd come to doing just that. “Do you think it could be connected to John's death?”
“Maybe. I don't know, at this point.” He looked away and turned to the album.
“Anyway, I've reported it as just an accident. I'll call my insurance agent in the morning,” she said, refusing to take his comments seriously.
She closed her eyes and leaned back in the soft chair, trying to relax. The accident had unnerved her more than she wanted to admit. The sounds of breaking glass and harsh scraping metal echoed in her mind. Behind her eyes she saw again the dark pick-up weaving on the road ahead of them, then disappearing around the curve.
Sighing, she opened her eyes and re-oriented herself in the hotel room, trying to dispel the memory. She glanced over at Paul. He was still engrossed in the picture albums. “Did you find anything interesting?”
Paul nodded and turned the album so she could see the pictures. “Look, John was on his school's swim team. I was on mine. He played high school basketball. I did, too.”
She moved to sit on the side of his chair so she could look at the pictures over his shoulder. “Hmm. Interesting.”
“This girl with the long blond hair even looks a little like a cheerleader I dated.”
“Guess it's true about twins having similar tastes, then, huh?”
“Yeah.” He glanced up to look at her. Desire shone from his eyes, making her gasp. Hot answering desire sped down to her middle. No, they mustn't. But their eyes met, and held.
He was much too close. She had to break the spell he was weaving over her. But she didn't want to.
Lacey felt a warm surge of attraction, and somehow, she was down on his lap in the big easy chair. Their lips met and the warmth turned to fire. His arms tightened around her and pressed her against him.
She reached up to slide her fingers through his curly hair, as she'd wanted to do since she'd first seen him. It felt as crisp and springy as it looked.
He lowered his head and she tipped hers up. Heat burned between them as they kissed again and again.
Sliding his hands under her sweater, he caressed the bare skin of her back while their lips continued their sensuous contact. She wanted more, she wanted to feel his bare skin. Lacey's fingers moved on his shirt, trying to slip the buttons through the holes. She worked each one impatiently, as his mouth continued its assessment of hers.
When he nibbled one earlobe, then kissed his way down the side of her throat to nuzzle the hollow of her collarbone, she turned her head to allow him more access and a soft groan of pleasure escaped her lips.
Pushing aside his open shirt, she reveled in the feel of his warm skin under her hands. She ran her fingers through his furry chest hair and traced the nubbin of nipple, then kissed it, making him shiver. Knowing she could bring such reactions from him encouraged her to move to the next one.
He shuddered and eased them both down onto the soft carpet. His hands deftly unsnapped her bra, and pushed it and her sweater aside. He met her gaze, silently asking permission as he freed the soft white globes.
She was beyond objecting.
He cupped her breasts with his hands, murmuring his pleasure in them. Heat raced along her nerves as his tongue slid over them and found their sensitive tips. When he took each into his mouth in turn, she arched and cried out. He gasped his satisfaction at her response, pressing his hardness against her to sho
w her what she was doing to him. Grinning, he took advantage of the opportunity to kiss a trail along the tender skin below her breasts, turning to cover her with his full length.
The weight of his body on hers trapping her against the carpet brought her to her senses, making her stiffen against him.
What was she doing? She was breaking every rule she'd made for herself. She was a loner. She'd learned that years ago the hard way. She didn't get involved with her clients. It was a good way to let down her guard and had almost gotten her killed once already, hadn't it? Never again. She cried out, “No, Paul, no!”
Paul pushed himself up with a groan and sat up. He began re-buttoning his shirt with trembling fingers. “Your actions said 'yes,'” he observed, his voice rough with frustration. He regarded her through angry, narrowed eyes.
“I'm sorry,” she said lamely, her face feeling hot. She refused to meet his eyes as she quickly re-snapped her bra. She pulled her sweater back down, the knit fabric soft against her still heated skin. “I guess I got carried away.”
“No doubt.” He stood, tucked in his shirttail with jerky movements and eased himself back into the chair.
Contritely, she helped him readjust the ice pack onto his leg.
She tried to swallow what felt like a ball of lint in her throat. Smoothing her hair with her fingers, she said, “Paul, I--I'm sorry. It's nothing against you.” She willed him to meet her pleading gaze. He had to understand her refusal. “I never get involved with a client. It's a rule I've lived by for years.”
“Sure. I understand.” His lips twisted wryly as he met her eyes, then glanced away.
But he obviously didn't. She sighed and said, “No, Paul, I don't think you do.”
“Suppose you explain it then?”
She looked away, then said quietly, “I made that rule for myself a couple of years ago after another case. Remember I told you that my Uncle Henry was murdered?”
He nodded, cautiously. “The one you said you suspected the sheriff of being involved with?”
She nodded. “Actually, I suspected all of his card playing buddies, though none of them were actually involved, as it turned out.”
Paul looked puzzled. “What does that have to do with not getting involved with a client?”
“I-I was engaged to a man, Mark, who'd been helping me with the case. After Uncle Henry's murderer, Jake, was arrested, he managed to post bail-awaiting trial. Mark died in a suspicious car accident the next week.”
“How awful for you. But you can't blame yourself for what someone else did!”
“But don't you see? If Mark hadn't gotten involved because he was interested in me, he would still be alive!”
“Even so, the one who killed him is to blame, not you. Was Jake convicted?”
“Yes, eventually.” She shuddered and looked away. “Too late for Mark.”
“I'm sorry about your loss, Lacey.”
“Thanks, Paul.” She went to the bathroom and ran a brush through her hair with trembling fingers. She hated remembering the past. It was too painful.
A knock on the motel room door froze Lacey mid-movement. She sent a nervous glance at Paul, then went to answer it. Opening the door she gasped, “Sheriff Ben!”
Sheriff Ben's lips curved in a grin. He stood holding his hat in his big hands and had a clipboard tucked under one arm. His badge glinted on his blue uniform, and his gun was snuggly holstered on his hip. “Hello, there, Lacey girl. I finally tracked you down, eh?”
“Uh, hello, Ben. We...we just got here a few minutes ago. Come in.” Yikes. The sheriff was the last person they needed to see tonight.
Would he arrest Paul? She should have found a safer place for him. Why hadn't they stayed in Minneapolis somewhere under an assumed name? What a dunce Paul was going to think she was. Now he'd miss his brother's funeral tomorrow. Of course, Ben might have attended the funeral looking for Paul, and found him there anyway, but at least he'd have gotten to attend.
Lacey waved Ben into the motel room where Paul sat with the photo albums in his lap. “How'd you know I was here?”
Ben said, “Caller ID. I gave Tom orders to call me the minute you returned my call. So I heard about your little accident. Since I was already over here covering the festival, I thought I'd fill out the report myself, and kill two birds with one stone.” He stopped as he saw Paul, and looked at him curiously. “So...this is the real Paul Menns, I assume? Don't get up,” he added as Paul started to rise.
“Yes, Ben, this is Paul,” Lacey said nervously, making hasty introductions. She swallowed and added, “I got your message and meant to return your call.” Well, that was the truth. She hadn't said when she got it or when she'd meant to return his call, had she?
She watched the two tall men eye each other as Ben reached down to shake hands. Paul sent her a questioning look as he discreetly closed the photo album and laid it on the floor beside him. Since there were only the two chairs, Lacey perched on the arm of Paul's chair.
Ben lowered his lanky body into the remaining chair opposite them and laid his hat on the end table. Setting his clipboard in his lap, he pulled out a pen, evidently ready to take notes. “Identical twins, eh? How long have you known about this, Lacey?”
“Well, I wasn't sure until I got your message that Paul's fingerprints matched those of the body,” she hedged.
“Yeah, that had me puzzled for a bit. Especially when the dental records didn't match.” He sent Paul an assessing glance. “Until my deputy reminded me that identical twins have the same fingerprints. Never ran across that before, myself.” Ben frowned and rubbed a long finger along the side of his nose. “But you gave me those two glasses with the same prints on them, Lacey. So, you'd figured it out before you heard that, hadn't you?”
She shrugged. She'd dearly love to gloat. Ben deserved to be shown up after all the times he or his buddies had ribbed her because she was female. But she knew Ben wouldn't appreciate any gloating on her part and, right now, protecting Paul was more important than playing their little one-ups-man-ship games. She couldn't afford to rile him now. “We went to Harry's to view the body last night. After we saw him, the only explanation that made sense to us was that they were twins.”
Ben turned to Paul belligerently. “You want to explain to me what you know about all this?”
Paul met his stony gaze straight on. “I don't know a whole lot. I'm an over-the-road trucker, as you probably know by now, since you talked to my landlady over in Canton and probably went through my apartment?” He sent the sheriff a questioning look.
Ben nodded, a bit reluctantly, Lacey thought.
Paul sighed and went on, “I came back from a run to the East Coast and saw the artist's sketch in the paper. When I called your office to find out who I was supposed to have killed, some woman gave me my own name.”
He shrugged, then reached down and shifted the ice pack to a more comfortable position. “So, I knew that I was in trouble either way. Either you thought I was dead, or that I was the murderer. I figured I had more chance of finding out what was going on out of jail than in it. So, I stayed out of sight and hired Lacey to help me find out what was really going on.”
Ben didn't look happy about his comments. He frowned and asked, “Where were you from three 'til six o'clock Monday morning?”
“Asleep in my truck back of the Rivertown truck stop just east of St. Croix.”
Ben looked surprised. “In your truck? Why didn't you go home if you were that close?”
“I'd been drinking, so I wanted to sleep it off, first.”
The sheriff made notes on his clipboard, then asked brusquely, “Any proof of where you were that morning?”
Paul sent him a sharp glance. “None that I know of. I suppose someone could have seen me or my truck there, but I don't know of anyone who did.”
“So you didn't know the dead guy?”
Shaking his head, Paul said, “No. I didn't know I had a twin brother.”
“Humph.” Ben thoug
ht a while, rubbing the side of his nose. Then he asked, “How could you not know that you had a twin? Were you adopted by different families or something?”
“Yes.” Paul's lips tightened. “As a baby. I was raised by Fred and Carol Menns in White Bear Lake.”
“You don't know who your real parents are?”
“My real parents are the people who raised me and cared about me, Fred and Carol Menns. They're both dead. My birth parents, whoever they are or were, don't matter. For whatever reason, they dumped me right after I was born. Since they obviously didn't want me, I've never had the urge to look them up.” Bitterness made Paul's voice harsh.
Ben's dark, bushy brows dipped and he shifted in his chair. “So you didn't even know about this brother?”
“That's what I said.” Paul's blue eyes stared directly at the sheriff. He looked more than a little angry at being asked to repeat it.
Lacey remembered how uncomfortable he'd been when telling her about his adoption that night. Ben's brusque questions must have hurt Paul. Unaccountably, she felt his pain and wanted to spare him more of it.
Damn it, was the sheriff here to arrest Paul, or just talk? Ben was such a pain in the rear, sometimes. It was just like him to keep them guessing while he filled out the paperwork for the murder and his report on her car accident.
Needing to move to break the tension, she got up, picked up the cups from the restaurant and asked, “Anybody want some coffee? I think there's a coffeemaker here.” She walked to the counter and sink area outside the bathroom and found it. At Paul and Ben's nod of approval, she plugged it in, and started the coffee dripping.
Tension made her throat feel parched. She drank a glass of ice water while the coffee dripped, listening anxiously as Ben questioned Paul further on details of the accident. Then she unwrapped a Styrofoam cup for Ben, poured the coffee into their cups, and carried them back to the sitting area.
Ben wrapped his long fingers around the hot cup, lifted it, and sipped. “Ah. You make a better cup of Java than Tom does.”
“Thanks.” She wondered if Ben had any idea that they already knew a lot about John. She decided not to tell him any more than she had to. Answering his direct questions was enough. It was a game she and Ben often played, don't lie when directly asked, but don't volunteer information, either. “So,” she asked, “did your ID on the dead guy's prints come back yet?”
